


Not The First Try, But The Second

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Awesome Molly, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sherlock, Embarrassed Sherlock, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, Nervous Sherlock, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rain, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is waiting for the perfect moment for his first kiss with Molly. He’s waited for <i>months</i>. Unfortunately, he doesn’t judge it <i>quite</i> right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not The First Try, But The Second

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amberowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberowl/gifts).



> So a while back I put up a kiss meme on my Tumblr, and **Amberowl** had asked for a romantic Sherlock/Molly fic with an awkward kiss. I didn't answer it until today, Day 1 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week on Tumblr, where one of the prompts is " _Caught in the Rain_." Hope you enjoy this, hun!

He wondered if they would ever kiss.

When he had broached the idea of having something that was more than a friendship with Molly, she had said they could take things slowly. And he had been pleased with that; it allowed him to get comfortable with her in a romantic nature, to get comfortable with being close to her, to get comfortable with being in a normal relationship without it being playacting. He had been exceedingly glad for the slow pace when their relationship had first started.

But it had been two months now and they were moving at a snail’s pace, and he was starting to get a bit aggravated. Not at Molly; no, at himself. He wanted to move faster, but he had no idea how to broach it to her. Being close to her, curled up next to her as they watched a film or holding her hand as they strolled in one of the public gardens or dancing close to her on one of the few occasions she could entice him to take her out dancing…it was an exquisite form of torture. He had not thought he would crave closeness but he did, and at the same time she didn’t seem to realize he wanted to be even closer.

He wanted to read books on how to send the right signals, read magazines on how to get your partner to notice, but advice like that wasn’t given to men. Women were the ones who needed that advice, it seemed, because society thought men were oblivious and men were clods and women were just too subtle. And, while Molly was neither oblivious nor a clod, he was just too subtle because he was clueless. And he _hated_ being clueless. It grated on him.

He was hesitant to ask for advice, though. Not that he didn’t think he’d get it, and in spades. But the fact he and Molly had been dating for two months and still hadn’t kissed would be sure to get him mocked, he knew that. Of that he had no doubt. And he didn’t want to put himself or Molly through that. No, it was best if he muddled through it on his own.

And so he kept waiting for the perfect moment to broach the fact that he wanted more, that he wanted more physical intimacy from her, or at least a kiss. He wanted the perfect moment to give her the perfect kiss. She deserved that much. She knew she had fancied him for a long time, had wanted him for a long time, and had probably fantasized about their first kiss. She deserved the best possible kiss, a kiss that would make her forget about Tom, about Moriarty, about any other man that had ever pressed his lips against hers.

It was a rainy evening when he thought, perhaps, that moment had arrived. They were on their way to her flat, walking from the tube station nearest her home because she had insisted on “not taking cabs all the time” and even though he had grumbled a bit, really, he would do almost anything she wanted. The rain had been threatening all day but had sprung up suddenly, and they’d dashed for the nearest awning…along with a handful of others. There were people pushing and shoving to all get under the meager cover it provided, and try as they might, they were not some of the lucky ones to stay dry.

“Mad dash to my flat?” Molly asked, rain dripping in her face as she looked up at him. Even with the threat of rain neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella, which was rather stupid of them, and they were paying for it now.

He glared at a man who gave Molly a shove further into the rain and then he nodded. “But first, let me at least try and cover us with my coat,” he said.

She nodded, and he shrugged out of his coat, shaking it a moment before moving next to her and then draping it over them, putting it over their heads. Molly burrowed next to him, putting an arm around his waist. It wasn’t the best protection, as the rain was pelting down and the wind was blowing the rain into them, but it wasn’t that far to her flat. She stayed close, keeping in step with him. When they finally got to her home, he arranged his coat to cover them while she tried to unlock the door. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“My hands are wet and cold and I can’t grasp my keys,” she said, looking up at him.

He reached over and took her keys from her, his fingers brushing hers. She gave him a warm smile and he stilled, looking down at her. And that was when he made a decision. Now or never. He’d make his move. He leaned in, angling his head so his lips could meet hers, but it all went wrong. She turned her head just slightly and he got the corner of her mouth with rainwater to boot. He took a step back, looking down and shaking his head, quickly inserting the key in the lock and opening the door.

The sooner he got her inside and then scurried back home and forgot the embarrassment, the better.

When they got inside, he pressed her keys back into her hands. “I should get going,” he said, his voice strained and him mumbling.

“Sherlock,” she said, reaching up to touch his face. He didn’t _want_ to look at her. It should have been the perfect moment and he had absolutely made a hash of it. But he forced himself to look at her and saw amusement in her eyes for just a brief moment before she stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his. It took just a moment for him to slide his arms around her waist and pull her close, deepening the kiss when she opened her mouth to him. Perhaps he had been wrong about the _exact_ perfect moment, but in the end, it had all worked out after all, and for that, he was glad.


End file.
